Antiques
by canibeyourotp
Summary: AU. Tim works in an Antiques store as general muscle. Books are beginning to pile up in the sorting room; the owner decides to hire a local college student to sort them out. He's not a complete asshole, to Tim's surprise. Slash, eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Tim Wright was having a shit day.

Forget terrible. Forget tiring. This day had been _monumentally_ shit, complete with a majestic shitty flagpole, and as much as he loves his job, he fucking hates it on days like this. Anyone who sneers at his job - "you manage stock items? seriously?" - has obviously never had to deal with the crap that gets donated or bought into the company.

This morning, for example. A frankly disgusting Ercol three-piece suite has turned out to have serious woodworm, and Tim can't move the thing without it spluttering sawdust everywhere. And then some moron has fly-tipped a corner unit outside of the shop, and the thing is the biggest piece of shit Tim's seen in a good month, and then _oh my god_ **_why_** would you put adhesive stickers on Wedgwood.

Tim, of course, does not interact with any of their customers or dealers. Previous mental health conditions mean that he and his employer (who is a lovely middle-aged lady called Dorothy, who happens to be quite well-versed in business strategy) agree that it's for the best. He shifts the furniture in and out - she makes sure it arrives and departs. It's quite neat, now that he thinks about it - there are five of them there, and usually he and Dorothy share the same shifts.

The business has run into an obstacle lately.

Tim is the muscle, and knows a bit about furniture and china. Dorothy is fantastic at valuing furniture, and knows the dates of seemingly every piece that comes through the doors; the co-owner is similarly familiar with plates, cups, and the other shit that Tim would never bring into his house. The other guy who shifts stock around is fairly dense when it comes to most things. And Lorna - a slightly odd girl who comes in every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday - is primarily an expert in vintage records and music, as well as sorting the linens and fabrics. She's moody and rude enough to rival Tim's personality, but manages to be one of those charming assholes that Tim isn't sure he could be friends with.

What does that leave?

It leaves books.

"You gotta hire someone soon, Dot," he tells her, leaning against the counter. It's been quiet today. "It's really piling up in that room."

"I know," Dot sighs. "It's hard to find someone who wants to do it, though."

"You don't want someone who'll half-ass the job, am I right? But you can't just keep letting in the dealers to nick the best stuff. They always rip you off."

Dot tucks a stray lock of whitening hair behind her ear, and takes a long sip at her cup of coffee. "Maybe I should get a college student in here..." she murmurs thoughtfully.

Tim doesn't reply. It won't make a difference to him who they happen to be.

* * *

One week later, the news gets broken to him: "we got the new kid starting on Saturday!" Lorna yells to him that Thursday, sweeping out of the door.

"Wait-" Tim replies, bringing his sack barrow to a juddering halt. The wardrobe resting on it sways worryingly. "Wait, what?!"

"Oh yeah," Dot tells him, smiling, "we hired someone. Job got taken almost straight away. Knew he was the one the moment we put vintage sci-fi in front of him."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demands, transporting the wardrobe with renewed vigour.

"Because you'll show him where everything is. The less time you got to stew over his arrival, the less grumpy you'll be with him."

Dot is right. She's always right about him. But dammit, he isn't a cane armchair that she wants to put a price on, and she shouldn't scrutinise him in that way.

Especially not when he's...

Well.

_Nice._

...Kind of.

"Hi," the new kid mumbles, grinning awkwardly and raising a hand in greeting. "I'm Jay."

"Book boy, huh?" Tim manages to get out. He's shocked, he really is. Jay can't be more than a couple of years younger than Tim himself, and it's surprising how nice he just _looks._ Tim has literally only spoken a sentence to him, yet Jay has this way about him that makes it seem like he could (quietly, and in a geek-like fashion) be friends with anyone.

Jay shrugs. "I guess so."

"Come on through, I'll show you the book room."

Tim beckons him forwards, through the staff area, and turns the corner into an astoundingly untidy room. He watches as Jay's eyes widen in terror, and really doesn't blame him at all; the staff have been dumping crates of literature - modern, vintage, or otherwise - in corners of the room for about six months. It's piled almost to the ceiling in some places. Great, teetering towers of boxed books that could fall any second.

God, they hadn't even cleared a space on the table for him to work with. Tim feels guilty all of a sudden.

"If you need any help lifting any of this," he says, motioning to... everything, "then, uh, gimme a shout. I can do that for you, I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Thanks," Jay says.

"You okay?"

"Just wondering where to start..."

He trails off, tilting his head slightly as he examines the cardboard structures that surround them. "I'll leave you to it," Tim chuckles, and then leaves very quickly, mentally berating himself for laughing. Tim doesn't laugh. That's a fucking stupid thing to do. Why did he do that?

* * *

**The AU that nobody asked for. I actually work in a reuse centre that deals with this kind of stuff! It's not antiques, and we don't buy stuff in, but it's pretty similar. Writing what I know for a change, which is pleasant.**

**JARGON GLOSSARY:**

**Ercol - a British manufacturer of furniture, est. 1920s.**  
**Woodworm - tiny parasites that basically eat the shit out of wooden furniture and leave little holes everywhere. They're a pain in the arse.**  
**Fly-tipping - illegal deposit of waste items.**  
**Wedgwood - pottery firm, est. 1759.**  
**Sack barrow - a tall trolley that can be used to transport awkwardly sized or heavy furniture.**

**Anything else you're not sure of, let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

Tim never knew there was so much money in books. Their takings have shot up since Jay's been around, and he's only been in for two Saturdays so far.

Jay's also startlingly dedicated. Like... he_ really_ loves books. In an almost unhealthy way. The way Jay practically frolics around after they do a house clearance, resulting in him being absolutely surrounded by Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke, is not fucking natural, and he probably needs to see someone about it.

"What do you even study?" Tim asks idly on the third Saturday, sitting on the half cleared table in the book room. "Are you a Lit student, or an English major, or what...?"

"Film," Jay clarifies. He flicks through a battered paperback, then decides to stack it neatly onto the pile he uses for general fiction. "Telecommunications and Film, actually. Mostly I just want to direct stuff. And edit footage. Y'know?"

Tim doesn't know, but this is probably the longest string of words Jay's said to him so far, so he doesn't mind. "How come you know so much about books then?"

"Most of it's the internet. See this?" Jay holds up a green book; it's a cloth hardcover, and looks fairly recently published compared to some of the other books. "_September, September_, by Shelby Foote. First Edition. Signed."

"How much?"

"About three-seventy, maybe three hundred and eighty dollars."

"Jesus Christ," Tim whistles. "Doesn't look like that much, huh? I'm glad you know what you're talking about..."

There is a brief silence as Jay goes through more books. Tim swings his feet a little from his position on the edge of the table. He's tempted to ask if Jay doesn't have anything better to do with his Saturdays, much like himself, but he figures that would be kind of mean.

The question kind of answers itself, anyway. Jay would rather come here and sort books on Saturdays, with a middle-aged lady and a moody bastard like Tim for company, than do Generic Student Activities.

"What did you do?" Jay asks suddenly. "In school, I mean?"

Tim almost laughs outright at him. "I didn't go to college," he says, amusement tingeing his tone, "I barely made it out of high school. In and out of hospital most of my life, and it got worse when it was most important for my exams... I guess I got unlucky. Or I'm just dumb. Who knows."

Jay looks at him with such an upset look that Tim regrets ever opening his mouth. What on earth did he say to provoke that reaction? "You aren't dumb...!" Jay mumbles, clutching the next novel to his chest.

Then he realises that he's said that out loud and looks kind of embarrassed, choosing to look at the ground instead of Tim. Jay eventually turns back around, and stacks the novel that he'd had in a death grip just moments earlier onto a different pile, gently placing it into a category that Tim would never be able to figure out.

Tim leaves after that. He's got furniture to move around. He can't spend all day in the book room.

* * *

"You seem to have taken to Jay fairly quickly," Dot notes later, during the week.

"Yeah, he's okay," Tim shrugs.

"Did I make a good choice?"

"I don't think you ever make bad ones, Dot," he comments.

* * *

Brian comes over one evening that week.

"Hey, buddy!" he grins manically. One hand claps Tim on the back; the other has a six pack of booze swinging from it. "How've ya been? I just got back from the leisure centre. You should really come around there sometime, they offer judo classes now-"

And Tim just smiles, and lets him bustle in through his front door, because he's never seen anyone love their job as much as Brian does. Brian's been a good friend to Tim, ever since they first met, and Tim wouldn't trade this in for the entire world. You could offer him power or gold or the Earth on a silver platter, and he'd still take Brian's friendship.

"So how's life?" his friend asks, collapsing into a chair and cracking open a beer. They've settled down to watch the game; it's the Chiefs against the Jaguars. For some reason, Brian really enjoys watching a bunch of guys running around on a field, but he'll always tell Tim what's going on, so Tim doesn't mind so much. Especially when they both get bored in the middle of it and make up narratives for all of the players, instead.

"Life's good, I guess. Same as always, really... Appointment on Thursday, work on Friday, work on Saturday. Nothing else to tell, really..."

"Oh, come off it," Brian says dismissively. "Work's gotta be cool! You always have something new about a crazy customer that's harrassed Dot, or how that Andy guy's been a total prick recently."

"Uh... A new guy started the other week," Tim offers up. It's the only new thing he can think of.

Brian, however, seems to take genuine interest in this. "Oh, really?" he asks, sitting forwards and focusing his attention purely on Tim. "What's he like? Is he a douche? I bet he's a total douche. What does he do?"

"He sorts books. He's... nice," Tim says.

"He's 'nice'? God, Tim, that's the most boring description of anyone I ever heard!" Brian takes a swig of his beer again: "still, if you think he's alright, then he must be, huh."

"College kid," Tim clarifies, and receives a nod of the head and an 'ahh' sound in understanding. "The kind of guy who'd get left out of all the frat parties and would sit in his room all night, alone on the internet."

"You seem to think of him pretty highly, then," Brian jokes.

"He knows what he's doing. That's good enough for me."

They watch the players dash about for a bit, before Brian says: "Tim, you should really come along to work with me someday. Take a course-"

"Brian, I couldn't."

"You need to do something, man! I can teach you rock climbing there-"

Tim interrupts again before Brian can go off on a tangent; his friend has gained a glint in his eyes from the mere mention of the recreational activity. Brian, of course, is right. He needs something to do, other than throwing himself into loading removal vans and staying at home watching reruns of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.

"Um... Didn't you say they did judo now?"

Brian jolts forward in his chair, looking like the happiest guy on the planet. "Yeah, they do all sorts of martial arts classes. Karate, Aikido, Ju-Jitsu... That kind of stuff. You wanna come?" he asks enthusiastically, saying everything in one breath. He _really_ loves being an instructor there.

"Yeah," Tim agrees, nodding. "Yeah, I think I might."

* * *

**Thank you for reading, my lovelies. If there's any furniture-related vocabulary that I've failed to clarify, don't hesitate to let me know.**

**(I should also mention that I do not have a Beta reader. If you find any mistakes that bother you - however minor - shoot me a message!)**


	3. Chapter 3

It's not very long before Jay begins to come in on days other than Saturday, too. Tim can't blame him, in all honesty - there are a hell of a lot of books. He's glad it's not his job, sometimes. Looking them up, valuing them, sorting out the modern stuff from the older stuff... It must take a long time. Jay seems like a patient guy, though. Soon, he begins to clock in every Thursday morning as well as every Saturday, and Tim doesn't think he's ever seen Dot so pleased.

Unfortunately, Lorna is in on Thursdays, too.

Tim's not really sure where he and Lorna stand. She's the textiles girl, the one who sorts out the linens, the member of staff who has the knowledge and passion for music to be able to sift through all of the musty old records in the back room. She's also got a bit of a mean streak, and has done nothing but mercilessly tease Jay since he started working on a Thursday. Tim and Lorna have a love/hate relationship going on, in a way; they do get along sometimes, and will mostly help the other with whatever their shop-related task is, but damn, can they be bitchy towards each other. It's not like he's scared of her - it's hard to be intimidated by a 5'5" twenty-something who plays bass for an indie Crowded House wannabe group. But she's not scared of Tim, either, which is actually a nice change from the fear and pity he usually evokes in other locals. So they have a mutual respect of each other, in loose terms... A respect that they continue to push the boundaries of.

"Oi, come help me lift this box," she yells, clear across the shop floor. Tim rolls his eyes, and makes his way over.

"Shut it, Lorna. You're scaring off customers," he deadpans, trudging to the crate she's pointing to. It's full of dusty old CDs... gross.

"Whatever, Tim. We all know it's your messed up face that keeps the business away," she smirks. She doesn't lift a hand to help him. Oh, no. She's content to stand back, cross her arms, and watch him struggle.

"Go and do some work. What with the whole job thing we have here, y'know..."

"Wise ass," she tells him, before disappearing back into her den of records. Tim fucking hates records. At least in the book crates, there aren't any nasty surprises... Granted, you can find some utterly disgusting things in boxes of china, too, but the thought of having to pull them out of the sleeves, where the last owner's grubby hands have been, is just foul. You can't put vinyl in a dishwasher. No siree.

And all those tapes and videos must be a pain in the ass to look through, too.

"Excuse me, sir... Do you work here?"

As he's making his way back to the welsh dresser he'd been cleaning up, someone grabs Tim by the shoulder. "Can I help you?" he asks, taken aback - Tim spins around, only to see a rather short, light-haired man, waving a little green book at him. He's impeccably dressed - smart shirt, shiny shoes, expensive watch.

Ah, crap. A dealer.

"Yes, you can... I was wondering if I could negotiate with someone in regards to the price of this book."

"You really shouldn't have taken that out of the display cabinet, sir," he says, looking sharply around the shop. Dot is nowhere to be seen, and he's just told Lorna to get back into the back room... Damn it. "I, uh, I'm not actually one of the shop staff, so I can't really help you at all if you wanna buy something... I just move things around."

"But it's overpriced," the man insists. He's still waving the book in the air, as though he already owns it.

"I don't think it is, sir."

"I'm sure of it," the man says, "and I doubt you'd know anyway. You said so yourself, you're just here to move things around."

Tim scowls. "The price of that book's fine. I actually know it for a fact."

The little man flares up suddenly, but Tim refuses to back down: "you're trying to con me!" he cries. The book is now being used as an impromptu signal flare - the man seems to be flagging down aeroplanes, judging by the intensity of which it's travelling through the air above his head. "I refuse to pay three hundred and seventy dollars for this! It's a joke! You don't know anything, you're just a college dropout-"

"_September, September_, by Shelby Foote," Tim interrupts. "It's a signed, first edition copy. If you can get it for cheaper anywhere else, feel free to buy it there." He's biting his tongue now, trying desperately not to irritably tell the dealer to fuck off, but he doesn't think he's going to last much longer without being considerably rude.

The dealer turns an alarming shade of red, looking primed to absolutely explode. And to Tim's immense relief, Dot comes back from whichever phone call she might have been taking and spots them straight away.

"Is there anything I can do to help here?" she asks kindly, turning to the dealer. "Ah, Mr. Ahlberg, it's so nice to see you again... Are you expanding your collection? We've had a recent influx of simply lovely books, I'm sure you'll be delighted with them. The Civil Rights Movement, wasn't it? I can recommend you some..."

And she leads him by the arm towards the display cabinets again, the steady stream of comforting words keeping the man's anger at bay.

He attempts to return to the welsh dresser once more, but is stopped at the entrance to the staff corridors. Jay pokes his head around the door, looking worried: "what was that all about?"

"Dealer," he explains. "They get pissy as hell when you try to explain you know they're conning you."

"Oh."

Tim runs a hand through his hair - people are so shit. "Don't worry about it. It's not like you'll get in trouble or anything."

"But you will?" Jay asks, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs in response. "He was being a dick. I think I'll get away with it."

Jay laughs - fucking laughs at him - and disappears behind the door again. Lorna asks him later why he's being so jumpy, and his agitation and that laugh are completely and utterly unrelated. Totally separate factors.


	4. Chapter 4

It's in the yard behind the shop when Tim finally snaps.

He's been trying. He really has. He's been reading instead of lying around the house doing nothing; he's been catching up with TV shows that he actually wants to see, rather than just having the set on in the background. Hell, he even started taking classes at the leisure centre where Brian taught. Tim's been _trying_.

But he also hasn't been sleeping very well recently, again, and this word seems to have reached his doctor's office.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he says into the phone line. It's too crackly - the static grates across his ears, and Tim grits his teeth.

"We weren't sure if we wanted to add it to your prescription yet, Timothy-" his doctor replies calmly. Yeah, they might be on a first name basis after so long, but it's always the_wrong_ first name on his doctor's end.

"Oh, really? It was never up for discussion with me, though, huh. I thought there was meant to be, like, a patient-doctor communication thing going on here, but I guess not!" he shouts back.

"Timothy, we were going to discuss it at your next appointment, but we really think it would be best if..."

And Tim snaps. He snaps, as his doctor details plans that he was never fully told about, and how they can make him better but without ever really explaining how. He's got enough problems to overcome already, and he's been _trying_. He's been trying so hard.

"You know what?" he yells into the receiver, "FUCK YOU-"

And he throws the phone clear across the grassy square that makes up the yard behind the shop. He sees it fall to pieces as it hits the ground, the back and the battery flying in separate directions, but he doesn't care because no-one is going to call him anyway. "FUCK YOU!" he screams again. Hands, shaking with rage, run through dark hair and over weary lines on his face, and Tim sinks to the floor. What's he meant to do now?

He's angry. But he's also afraid. And he's very, very tired.

It takes a few seconds for the sound of footsteps, crunching over gravel and grass, to seep their way through the noise of blood pounding in his ears. He can't bring himself to tell Lorna to fuck off, too, so he closes his eyes and wishes that his head wasn't such a strange and frightening place to explore. But Lorna doesn't leave, and for some reason, even decides to sit down next to him. This is strange, because she usually "can't stand that kind of sappy shit".

When Tim looks up, it's not even Lorna who's there.

Across from him, hugging his knees, is Jay. He's staring off into the distance, and it looks like he's left his slightly-stupid cap inside, because his hair's all ruffled, but the hat is nowhere to be seen. Tim exhales heavily, trying to expel his seething fury. Jay doesn't need to put up with him being all moody and mad at someone who isn't him. It's not his fault.

Jay turns to look at him. He doesn't look curious, or sad, or even freaked out. He just looks a little bit worried.

Tim's not used to that look. One without pity. A look he hasn't seen for so long.

"Why are you here, Jay?" he asks him, trying to keep his voice steady. It wavers slightly, but Jay either doesn't notice or pretends not to.

Jay blinks. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm not," Tim laughs. It sounds hollow, and horribly empty. "I'm really not okay."

"Well... I guess you can count me in as moral support then," Jay smiles, and his smile is far more genuine than Tim's laugh.

Tim doesn't know what to say, so he struggles with: "um... Thanks."

"You're welcome."

They sit there in silence until Tim's break is over.

* * *

At the end of Jay's shift, he leaves as he usually does, which entails hovering outside the door to the book sorting room awkwardly, shouldering his backpack, and mumbling goodbye to whoever is on duty. Tim gets off work when the store closes at five thirty, but he rarely says goodbye to anyone.

It's raining as he steps outside. Lorna follows him.

"Need a light?" she says, smirking and holding out a luminous orange lighter.

"No. I'm quitting."

"Christ," Lorna replies. She places a cigarette between her lips, and instead brings the lighter to her own mouth. "Wish I could. Every time I try to quit, I end up starting back up again a week later."

"I'm not _trying_," Tim corrects her. "I'm quitting. Simple as that."

"Christ," Lorna repeats, and raises her eyebrows. "I'm going home. See you tomorrow."

Tim stands by the front door for a little longer after she leaves, heavy boots sending up spray from the rain. God, what was he even _doing_ with his life? It was starting to look on the up, too. Helping yourself out of trouble was so much harder than everyone made it out to be.

He wards off the negative thoughts by getting into his car and cranking up the temperature, letting the engine warm up for a little while so the steam from the windscreen cleared. Tossing his broken phone into the glove compartment, he pulls out into the road, making mental notes as he goes. Get a new phone, or get his old one fixed up somewhat. Pack kit for martial arts tonight. Call his doctor from his home line, say sorry when he doesn't mean it, and ask for a new appointment.

Those are more long term than the list he makes next: check to see if there are any other cars on the road. Pull over. Ask Jay why the hell he's walking home an hour after he left work, in the pouring rain at that.

He does these. "Why the hell are you out in the rain?" he asks.

Jay, who had been startled by the car until he'd seen who was driving, gestures to his pulled up hood. "I'm okay." he mumbles.

Yeah, Tim isn't going to buy that. Not for one second. He leans across and opens the passenger door. "Where are you headed?" he asks. "I'm not gonna tell you twice. Get in the damn car, you moron."

Shaking his hair before he climbs in, Jay slams the door, and hold his hands discretely over the heaters. "It's uh..."

"Were you going home? I didn't realise you lived on that side of town, but okay-"

"Um, no," Jay interrupts. He won't make eye contact with Tim, and he looks strangely embarrassed. "It's, uh, actually back there..."

A car overtakes them, the driver making a pointed glance towards them, but Tim doesn't see and he probably wouldn't care if he had seen. He jerks his head towards the passenger seat and stares. "Then why the hell were you walking that way?!" he asks incredulously.

"...I was trying to avoid someone, so I took the long way around," Jay admits. His eyes are fixed on the handle to the glove compartment like it's the most interesting method of storage he's ever seen in his life.

"Man, you really didn't want to see this guy. Or girl. Have you pissed someone off?" Tim says. He make a not-quite-legal manoeuvre that turns them back towards the way they'd come. "Actually," he starts again, "I don't wanna know. Not if you don't want to talk about it. We've all got enough problems we don't wanna share, right? I figure if you wanna go home the wrong way in this weather, then it's probably not something I can do anything about."

Jay finally looks up, but Tim can only spare him a momentary glance before he has to concentrate on the road again.

After a long time, Jay says: "I'll work out what to do eventually."

After driving in silence for a little while, Tim pulls up to an apartment building. It's fairly near to campus, but... Jay must be really alone here. Isolated, almost. Tim wonders if Jay lives alone, and what he does apart from study.

"Here you are," he says.

Jay doesn't move, just for a second. "D... D'ya want to come in?" he asks quietly.

"I can't. I have judo tonight," Tim says, making a face. For a moment, he can't quite believe that he genuinely wants to join Jay in his apartment and hang out. "Oh, wait, hang on. I can give you- Oh no, I can't. Shit, no, I broke my phone," he clarifies, "I was gonna give you my number in case you needed any help. Y'know, with that person you're avoiding."

He's probably not made any sense at all, but it seems to elicit some sort of response. Looking like he could burst into tears at any moment, Jay plays with the door handle: "do you have any paper?" he asks.

Tim gestures towards the glove box, and Jay writes on the back of the manual for Tim's car. "This is my number," Jay explains, "is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Be careful."

Jay opens the door, sighing heavily as though it would calm him down. "Thanks," he breathes unsteadily.

"Welcome."

The harsh, wet wind is gone as soon as Jay closes the door, and Tim watches him to the door, before driving home in the rain. He questions as to whether or not it's the right way, though.

* * *

**Sorry this one took so long. I lost this chapter's contents ****_twice_****. I was quite put out, to say the least...**

**If there are any British-isms that are staggeringly unsuitable for an American setting, please don't hesitate to correct my writing. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

Somewhere along the line, Tim and Jay have become tentative friends.

It's a mystery as to how they got to that point - Jay is the kind of guy who likes Asimov, H. G. Wells, and making graphics for obscure TV shows. Tim's just taken up a freaking martial art, moves a house's worth of furniture per work shift, and doesn't drink himself into oblivion for the sole reason that he doesn't have anyone to drink _with_. He's only just grasped the basics of Microsoft Word, for crying out loud, and one of Jay's main interests is _cinematography_.

He feels guilty for it at first, because it feels like he's replacing Brian. Brian is the first friend he ever made (which is really, _really_ pathetic in his mind). But he's been seeing him a whole lot more frequently recently due to his judo lessons. And, to be fair, the two are polar opposites - Brian could never take Jay's place, and Jay could never usurp Brian's.

Then his mind wanders to the thought of Jay trying out rock climbing, which is the funniest image he's conjured up in a long time.

* * *

"You spend a lot of your breaks in here," Jay tells him, during one particularly dull shift.

"Sick of me yet?" Tim asks. On slow days, he often finds himself in the book sorting room. He usually just sits on the corner of the table, staring at what Jay is doing, whilst they make fragmented conversation; he wouldn't be surprised if the other guy really _was_ sick of him yet.

"No," Jay says hastily, almost dropping the stack of books he's moving aside. "I like it. I mean, I don't mind..."

And neither does Tim. It almost makes him smile half the time. Especially at this point, when Jay opens a box, and then frantically closes it with a horrified look. "Historical Romance," he whispers fearfully, and Lorna genuinely doubles over with laughter when Tim later tells her Jay's afraid of old lady erotica.

"I'm gonna head for lunch. You coming?" Tim asks.

Jay pales. "Oh."

"What?"

"I left my wallet at home."

"Dumbass," Tim says, but he means it lightheartedly. He hopes Jay realises this. "C'mon. You want Chinese?"

"I don't have any money..." Jay mumbles.

"Yeah," Tim acknowledges, "and I'm not gonna let you starve, am I? I know a place that does really good Chinese food."

Jay smiles uncertainly and grabs his stuff together, but as they begin to leave, Tim hears the company phone ring. Usually, he avoids the phone like the plague, but Dot's out of sight and Lorna's not allowed to answer it.

"Just let me get this," he says, gesturing for Jay to wait for him outside. At the very least, Tim is able to take down a name, number, and message, so it's no big deal if they're two minutes later for lunch. "Hello-"

He's cut off. "Found you."

The voice is hoarse, breathing heavily down the line, and is unsettlingly victorious in tone. The simple phrase drags past Tim's eardrums like barbed wire. He knows exactly what to do with this one. "Uh, I don't know who this is," he starts, "but I'm gonna warn you right now. You like prank calls, we like 911. Don't call again unless you're interested in our products."

There's a click on the other end, and then a dial tone.

"Interesting?" Jay asks.

Tim minds his way down the steps as he joins him outside. "Just some dumb teenager trying to be funny. Let's go."

So they walk. Tim is willing to ignore that Jay is looking cautiously behind his shoulder every so often, if Jay will ignore that Tim does the same to make sure they haven't got company, because he's really not comfortable with the fact that Jay thinks someone's following him, and that he's actively been avoiding someone.

They sit outside with their food, on the step in front of the shop. Jay pokes at his noodles blankly; Tim shoots him little glances between mouthfuls of egg fried rice.

"I had a boyfriend," Jay blurts out. Tim chokes.

"Uh... Okay?"

"Oh, I didn't mean to say that. Yet," he says, looking flustered, "it's just, I think I owe you an explanation for the whole 'I'm avoiding someone' thing. So... I had a boyfriend."

"Okay. But you don't now," Tim says. He doesn't know why his chest suddenly feels so tight, but he'll gladly put it down to quitting smoking.

"No, I don't have one now." Jay blinks rapidly, and takes a deep breath. "He... didn't take that so well. He didn't take a lot of things well, if I'm completely honest... And I think he might want me back."

"That sucks."

And Tim knows he's said the right thing, even if it's the understatement of the century, when Jay looks him in the eye and smiles.

"It really does," Jay smiles. "Yeah."

Even though they're talking about something that's really serious, and really bad, and _really really bad oh my god,_ Jay still looks like he's happy that Tim understands. It does suck. But Tim - stupid, socially ignorant, asshole-with-one-friend Tim - has somehow successfully conveyed that he gets what's going on.

He can't finish the last mouthful of his food. He suddenly feels very strange. "If you need anything," Tim begins, "like, _anything_, I just got my phone fixed. So..."

Jay looks like someone's taken an entire tonne from off his back. They both stand up to trudge back to work, and he seems lighter than he was before; carrying himself in a way that would suggest even less weight than what was already clinging to his skinny frame. "Thanks, Tim," he mumbles, smiling still.

The weird feeling Tim has is not going away anytime soon because of that dumb smile.

* * *

**Wow. Two chapters in two days? Something's given me a right kick up the jacksy. Luckily for you guys, huh. This is actually the first serious multi-chaptered fic I've ever done, and it's great! It's really fun! I'm so pleased that it's not crashing and burning, because my preferred format is definitely one-shots. Thanks for reading, guys. _x_**

**Oh, and don't forget to review! (Even if you're annoyed with my writing. Any reason for reviewing is fine by me!) **


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